Growing up I lived much farther from school then most , at least everyone else that lived farther from school had other kids that only lived a short distance that their parents were willing to give them a ride. I felt like no one ever wanted to come over cause it was just to far. I know that in a child’s point of view this can be very disappointing , but I guess as time has gone on I have learned to come to terms that in the long run this effected me for the better.
Although I lived farther away my property that I lived on was beautiful. It was also very large which was nice because I had a huge imagination. We always had lots of animals, I can remember at one point in time having hundreds of rabbits that roamed all the way to near by houses. My dad always kept the lawn nice, perfectly mowed, I can remember lily’s lining the bottom of one side of the lawn, right before it went over the gully. Lots of roses at different ends of everywhere. When my parents moved there a yard was non excitant, nothing but a sticker bush farm. My dad spent months clearing them out and planting grass to make sure we would have a lawn to play in.
My parents were very hard working. My mom wasn’t the girly type by any means. I have a very faint memory of playing with lipstick in the bathroom when I was younger and that’s the last time I remember my mom owning makeup until we started to buy it for her two years ago. She has natural beauty. She’s always been a very kind person to everyone around.
My mom married my dad when she was seventeen, after being together for four years. My dad was a man that most people didn’t mess with. He was also a man that growing up with, could have a huge temper, now I see that temper in myself. He worked for a tree service for many years and has definitely put some wear and tear on his body. When I think of my dad I can hear is laugh. Over all though my dad is a really good guy with a great sense of humor.
My grandparents live next door to us on a piece of their own property. My grandma is the sweetest lady ever, and a great baker. My grandpa was a marine, and also a very funny. I think these two combined resulted in me not really understanding his sense of humor till I was older. I remember just after learning how to ride a bike. We had a circle driveway that linked down, what seemed at the time, a steep long driveway. I had a little pink hand me down with yellow strips. My grandpa took and started to ride, “I‘m going to Alaska“ he said. Convinced he was leaving with my bike forever I ran after him. At the end of the long driveway he set the bike on the ground and said “just kidding” and had me push my bike all the way up the hill by myself. Over all I remember my grandpa being a really funny nice guy, (he apparently had calmed down after us girls were born.)
Our house sat in the middle of our property. A small single wide trailer with a small edition built on to it. I never really cared to much about living in a small house,( I admit sometimes as a kid I would picture myself as a millionaire). My house was full of so much love and always felt like a home, not just to me but to any one who walked into it.
My dad spent lots of time talking about his days as a kid. Whenever thinking about his stories I can almost always hear him talking about his grandma. She was his “nanny” and old English teacher. My dad had four other brother that, as stories are told, were a tough crowd to try and handle even as kids. My dad really loved his grandmother. Anything that reminds him of her he will being up, “my grandma had a thing just like this she would put her dressings in.” He ended up with a few of neat little things, tea pots, her cinnamon sugar jar, a two hundred year old rocking chair and even a nursery rhyme book that I became very fond of.
I’ll be the first to say that I have never been a big fan of reading. . Even in school it was always really hard for me to read books that I was assigned to read. As I get older I find it easier to self discipline myself enough to make myself get past what I have to. If I find an article that interest me than I will probably read it unless I realize its longer than my attention span. I feel like this is a bad thing as a writer, not only because you want people to read what your writing no matter what length it is, but also because it’s a good way to give feedback to yourself.
Although my passion for reading wasn’t great, my love for writing has always been there as far back as I can think. I remember as five years old I insisted on writing my uncle a letter to Alaska even though I could barley write. I realized that I liked to write more than the average kid in the third grade when my teacher assigned us to write short stories about anything throughout the school year, at the end of there year I had about thirty or more stories compared to the next kids ten. I also started to write poems at the same time. I thought it was more normal but if I was to see a kid write as much as I did when I was younger I think I would be impressed. When I think about where this comes from I go back to the same memory of reading my great grandmas book of nursery rhymes and short stories.
Everything about the book intrigued me, the way the book looked old, the illustrations. The part ill never forget is the beginning of the book, it was the part that had all the nursery rhymes. My dad always told me how his grandma had all of them memorized by heart. One of the best memories I have is sitting in front of the big bay window that was in our addition of our house. It was a beautiful late spring day, my dad just got done mowing the lawn and the smell of fresh cut grass was in the air. It was mixed with the sweet smell of cherry blossoms from the giant ornamental plum I could see my parents relaxing under. I sat and studied the hardest tongue twister that I could find “Betty Botter Bought A Bit Of Bitter Butter.” When I finally had memorized I ran out to recite to my parents. My parents were always happy to see me involved with reading or writing.
Even the short stories were inspiring to me like; Goodnight Moon, The Little Engine That Could, Where The Wild Things Are. When I read through these I picture my great grandmother reading them to my dad and my uncle’s all the time when they were kids. My
I believe that being given this book is what has inspired me to write so many poems growing up. Although then they meant nothing to me then so unfortunately I didn’t keep any, but I have probably written at least two hundred poems overall. This was a big part of my life growing up which I believe that even though I have never meet my great grandma she is still a big part of who I am today.
Not only did she live through me by the great book of nursery rhymes but her constant correction of my fathers grammar and English as a kid was something he preceded to do to me. It helped sometimes in school. It just goes to show that even though you may not be around, whatever you are passionate about can be passed through for generations.
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